Soft autumn early morning
People sitting at outdoor tables
Writing letters quickly,
Before the onrushing winter rain.
Houses glimpsed through branches
heavy with mist and smoke
Smelling of bacon bread and coffee,
surprise at land’s end.
The smoke from our cabin chimney
hard earned driftwood burning,
A child, our child, on the way
In every moment, in every breath.
This morning I came up from a different beach.
There were lights in the cafe
People writing at outdoor tables
It was for a moment a different trail
from years ago, when we were young,
when our future was in the wind.
When you see our boy later today
don’t tell him that I remember him
from before he was here, there.
That today feels like a walk in winter wet woods,
on a long ago island,
smelling of cedar smoke, breakfast and home.
I imagine he won’t understand
Although I could be wrong.
Photo is © Michael Lebowitz – All Rights Reserved